Misfits
by Jotunheim Storm
Summary: They were bound together by chains. Held together by hate. They stay together for safety. They trust one another as they are all misfits. Are they the monsters that haunt your every nightmare or simply misunderstood? (SYOC OPEN)
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Captain America lovers, I'm starting a new story called** ** _Misfits_** **and it holds a similar plot line to that of** ** _Trust_** **which sadly I will be discontinuing. SORRY!**

 **This story will be set around the life of my OC Amélie Samantha Lyon and her story as a HYDRA prisoner. This story will include Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch before they join The Avengers. So would you like your character to be in the story?**

 **Name:**

 **Age:**

 **Gender:**

 **Appearance:**

 **Normal clothes**

 **Personality:**

 **History:**

 **Power:**

 **Which part do they play in the team?:**

 **Sexuality:**

 **Romance:**

 **How they came to HYDRA:**

 **Anything else?:**

 **Types they can be on the team**

 **Leader: Taken**

 **Thinker:**

 **Muscle:**

 **Seducer:**

 **Honest:**

 **Liar:**

 **Brave:**

 **Wise:**

 **Kind:**

 **I hope you have fun making your characters. There is one rule, if you have account submit through PM if you don't through a REVIEW!**

 **~I've been Jotunheim Storm~**

 **Thanks xoxo**


	2. Prelude

Prelude

I can't remember a life before the pain.

From a young age I dealt with pain, not necessarily my own but there was always an aspect of regret, physical pain or emotional if not both. These have been the constant companions to my existence. I have heard the cries of the innocent, the fall of the good and the triumph of the evil. I have witness this either with my eyes or heard the screams in my mind. The screams that keep me up for many nights.

Sometimes I wish I could just ignore them all, forget their pain and get on with my life. But I can't, because they are always thinking, about themselves, their loved ones and the ones around them. I have to hear it all, just because they think.

We always believe that our thoughts are private, things that no one else can hear. The things that make us free as we are allowed to think what we wish. I have come to terms with the fact that nothing in this life is private. Not your secrets that you hide deep down and not the fact the boy across the road you fancy is actually gay.

I know this because I can hear everyone's thoughts, all at once. My head is a shambles of anger, joy and sadness. All emotions but none of them my own. I often find myself struggling to distinguish between my own thoughts and theirs.

My mother always told me my power is a gift. A gift of empathy and understanding. It also gives me the opportunity to always see things from someone else's point of view not just my own. My mother used to tell me it is a blessing from the Lord above because he wishes me to know the truth in life.

However, where I am right now, I see it as more of a curse.

* * *

Around my fifteenth birthday I was taken from my home in the middle of the night by a masked man, with a head and serpent legs tattooed onto his arm. He whispered only one thing into my ear "Hail HYDRA." Those words have poisoned my life and made every second of it hell. There have been countless occasions when I considered ending it all. They would never let me though. They _need_ me alive.

On the first day of arrival to the base, I was injected with a bright pink serum, sending a jolt of electricity through my very being, each fibre of my body being pierced through with agony. My skin boiled under touch and my eyes welled with tears that eventually trickled down my cheeks and I screamed, begging for mercy and for freedom.

I awoke from the poisonous nightmares to be greeted by a yellowed toothed man, with grey eyes and a bald head, shinning in the dim lighting of the room I was shackled to. He had the same tattoo as the man who kidnapped me that fateful day.

He then began to speak venom to my awaiting ears. He told of how he seized my younger brother, Jacob, who was only eleven at the time. He explains how he stabbed him, several times in his legs and arms. He told me how the little boy whimpered as he begged for his release. He then spoke, of how he gently brought his blade the young boy's quivering neck, slitting his throat just as he began to scream my name.

I shot my hands forward, telling the man before me instructions. My words like a melodic tune, as I sang my words became more vicious and my intent grew stronger. My desire to kill him. As I let the last note of the song to escape from my cracked lips, the man brought his pitch black gun to his head, blowing out his own brain.

Then I watched in horror as the man before me broke into a shambles of pixels, pixels that scattered across the floor before fading into nothing. Shining lights were beamed into my face and I blinked several times before coming to.

A young, muscular woman stood over me, her eyes coloured like amber stared into my own terrified ones. She told me how it was all simply a test of the new powers they gave me. Jacob was indeed fine and hadn't been harmed. A siren call, not only was I cursed with the power of telepathy I was now given a violent siren's song which gave me manipulation over others actions.

* * *

I now sit in my cell, watching the young man across the room from me. Behind the steel bars that confine me to the yellow walls of my room is an empty space, which we are allowed into for meal times and sometimes, if we are lucky, recreational activities. The man before me is often running around his cell, as if running could help his escape he often tells me about when we are eating, despite the fact we are supposed to be condemned to silence. He only sits now, legs crossed and his eyes fixated on mine. His hair is of a white blonde shade, which often falls into his left eye unless scraped out of the way. His eyes a vivid blue, full of questions and no answers. He is wearing the same thing I am, just with shorter sleeves. He wears the grey jumpsuit, without the sleeves I wear. His feet are in a battered pair of white trainers and his hair again messy, dropping over his face.

This boy I know nothing about apart from his immense speed and the blue of his eyes. I do not even know his first name, I can only address him as Maximoff. Not by his own preference but by the order of the guards. Despite the fact he is told to call me Lyon, he simply calls me Ginger and often follows this up with a cheeky and bold wink. You should have seen the amount of whippings he got for such _seductive_ behaviour.

There is another Maximoff in this place, but she is a woman of what I assume to be the same age. Her face is a pale shade, much like who I assume to be her brother. Her eyes are wide and coloured like the brown of chocolate, something my malnourished mouth hasn't tasted in years. Her hair falls in brown waves, it sits below her elbows and is often a mess of tangles. She clenches her hand and unclenches it, create a mass of red shimmering light that follows and repeats the movement of her hands. I know even less about this woman, accept for the fact they call her "Witch" behind her back.

And then there is me, the girl with the poisoned song and the tormented mind. I often wonder what my family must think about me disappearing in the night without a trace. I wonder if they even care or remember me. Maybe they just let me become a memory, one that would be ignored for the rest of their lives.

* * *

I look up to see the woman who is in charge of the whole facility, we are only allowed to address her as mistress, and anything else results in a beating. The door to my cell is unlocked before I'm am shoved out of the usual holding chambers, I am not even led towards the torture chamber. I am take to a room, with a white wooden door.

My eyes have to adjust to the brightness of the room, and my eyes are awestruck by the beauty of it all. The walls are painted a light blue shade, and from the ceiling is a crystal chandelier, which shimmers in the light it is emitting. The floor is carpeted and soft against my bare feet, the bristles tickling the rough souls of my feet. I see before me a large wardrobe which is opened to me, showing me the large selection of dresses and matching shoes.

Mistress leads me to one dress hanging off the hanger in the room, telling me this is now mine. I look to her in disbelief as she nods slowly. My eyes find the dress and I can't help but coo slightly at the sight. The dress is a forest green, and the style is off the shoulder with the skirt going to the floor. Along time ago I could have told you the proper name for it, but knowledge of fashion has left me now. Around the arm holes, where the sleeves should have been, there were many jewels, giving it a dazzling feel. Around the skirt there are what appear to be leaves, made of a similar style fabric to that of the dress. I easily slip into the dress, before catching a glimpse at myself in the mirror.

My skin is an ivory shade, and my cheeks are blemished by freckles. My face is sculpted by the high cheekbones that go well with my long nose. My eyes are an emerald green and my lips thin and pink. My hair is long, falling past her shoulders and is a ginger shade, which curls at the end of my hair. This is the first time in ages I'm not disgusted by my own appearance in the back of my spoon.

My feet are put into a pair of satin gold heels, and around my neck is a long golden chain with a small amethyst at the end of my chain. I look like one of the women from the movies. I turn around, to look at myself over my shoulder. I can't help grin.

* * *

When I leave the room on command I am met again with the Maximoff boy. He is more formally clothed just like me. He is wearing a suit a midnight blue with a thin green windowpane pattern. Single breasted, but with peaked lapels. This unusual detail, along with handmade buttonholes and functional cuff buttons, give the garment away as bespoke. The shirt is white, with lavender stripes running up it. The tie is deep purple, solid and sleek. It's tied with an impeccable, effortless dimple. His pocket square is colourful and vibrant, yet tasteful. He looks striking and rather dashing. His shoes are a black suit shoes and well-polished.

We are led out of the building, sat in a small black car at the end of the road. When I ask why the Maximoff girl isn't coming her brother replies, in his thick Russian accent, that she would rather die than help the people we are tortured by. I gulp slightly, before looking down to my new golden shoes.

"This is the closest I've been to a woman who doesn't make me want to vomit. You are rather stunning Ginger, I'm Pietro. Who are you?" he asks me quickly, trying to keep up conversation. His Russian accent is foreign to my ears, but a welcome change to the sound of my own voice.

I turn to look at the young man before me, his blue eyes are yet again staring intently into my own. I blush violently and look down to my feet.

"Amélie Lyon," I finally mutter.

"Your name means defender in French, Ginger," he smirks.

I look at him in shock and awe, it has been so long since I met someone else who could speak even a little French. My father, Adam, is of French descent.

"You speak French?" I ask, intrigued by the man before me.

"Oui. Je parle de nombreuses langues belle. L'un d'eux est le langage de l'amour," he says, before waggling his eyebrows.

My door is opened and I get out of the car, before I have the chance to even blink, Pietro is by my side. He grabs my arm, linking our arms together. He has clearly decided our cover story is that he is my romantic partner. I can't help but sigh.

* * *

We walk to a large room, the floor made of marble and the room highlighted by large vases of roses and yet again we see another chandelier. At the front of the room is a young man playing piano. Also on the same stage there is a microphone for those who want to sing.

The rest of the room is in a steady waltz, which unexpectedly he brings me into. The dance is simple enough, just a slow movement of one, two, three. He then twirls me around, then bringing me into a dip, before bring my body back to his. He whispers complements into my ear, to make me blush and make our performance seem more realistic.

A potbellied man then calls out, asking us whether or not any of us wished to sing. I call out, saying I do, before running towards the stage. _This is when I kill them all._ I swan up to the stage, swaying my hips as I walk. I tap the microphone once before beginning my murderous song.

* * *

" _Listen, listen. Hear my words. Listen, listen. I won't be ignored. You know he's bad, you can see it in his eyes. You know he's mad, he's out for you. Listen, listen. Hear my words. Listen, listen. I won't be ignored. Take him down_ ," I sing, my words poisoning their mind as I raise my hands in time to my song.

I then watch as all SHIELD men and women begin to square each other off, as I call them to. My song then becomes more poisonous, and they begin to fight around me and Pietro. I watch as men and women strangle each other and smash objects over each other's heads. Then I watch, not in horror or shock as they all fall dead to the floor.

" _I won't be ignored_ ," I sing the last note, before walking of the stage boldly.

I lift my dress up from the bottom of the floor, taking Pietro's arm in mine as we walk through the blood stained marble floor.

"We should do this more often," he states.

"Agreed."

* * *

 **Hello lovely people of !**

 **So this is a little introduction to my story and my character. I hope you like her as of yet, and find her somewhat intriguing.**

 **Thank you so much for the lovely characters so far, in the next chapter I will be selecting who is in and who isn't. Please leave a review so you have a better chance of getting your character in.**

 **You can still submit and the form is now of my profile page. You can submit up to 2 characters, so have fun with that.**

 **~I've been Jotunheim Storm~**

 **Thanks xoxo**


End file.
